Greetings From Hell
by its-never-lupus
Summary: This has taken me long enough to get up, no? YEAH! Ummm...during fall break, I've got nothing else to do, except sit around and work on my stories, sleep, and make pb cookies that get three times their size in the oven. More bandnerdiness...plz review!
1. Welcome to Hell

Hey people! Who's tired of me and my endless chaptered ficcies? (everyone in audience raises hand in unison) Eh, who cares what you think? Anywho, a quick note: In an attempt to make the computer run faster, my dad deleted every single piece of fanficiton I've ever written EVER, and I am MAJORLY pissed off, so Race's dad is going to continue to be an asshole throughout the whole fic, so...yeah. This was originally only supposed to be three pages, now it's five. I changed it some, flipped some stuff around, ya know? Hope you like, CC at the bottom!

I am a perfectly NORMAL teenage boy: I go to school, I play snare drum in the marching band, I get good grades, and I volunteer at the hospital. But, according to my dad, I have only one flaw:

I'm gay.

Yes, I kid you not. That's it.

Allow me to introduce myself: My name is Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins, and I'm about 5'3", dark hair, even darker eyes, and I'm always drinking, gambling, and cracking jokes. The gambling one was how I got my nickname.

But anyways...

My dad thinks sending me to this military school(of which I've already forgotten the name) will somehow drill the gay outta me.

Good luck, fat chance, I DON'T THINK SO!!!

Ahem.

So, there I was, staring up at the massive oak front doors while my dad and brother took my stuff out of the car.

"Jeez, Race, what the HELL is in these things?! Bricks?!"

That would be my older brother, Mario. He's witty and sarcastic, kinda like me, only straight. He was my dad's golden boy, but we still managed to get along, because he actually accepted me for who I was, unlike SOME people(coughmydadcough) I could mention.

"HEY ANGIE!!" I yelled through the back window where my 14-year-old sister was talking and laughing loudly on her cell phone. "YA GONNA SAY GOOD-BYE TO ME, OR WHAT?!"

"WELL, BYE ALREADY!" she yelled, holding her hand over the mouthpiece. "SEE YA AT CHRISTMAS!!"

Yeesh. You'd think, for her own brother, she'd at least get out of the car and give me a hug.

But no. She's STILL talking on the damn cell phone. What's the world coming to?

My mother, who actually loves me, got out of the car and gave me a hug. "You hang in the, Anthony. You'll grow to like the school, you'll see."

I was sure I wouldn't, but I mustered up a smile, just for her. Gah, I love my mom so much. "Sure, mom" I said half-heartedly. "I'll see ya at Christmas time. Finals, and all that."

"Goodbye, dear. Have a good first term, call when you can. We all love you and we will all miss you. Well...goodbye."

I stood there waving goodbye for about five minutes, till I couldn't see the car anymore. Then, heaving a huge sigh, I scooped up my bags, and pushed open one of the giant oak doors.

Directly into someone's face.

"HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK?! GODDAMMIT!! WATCH WHAT YOU'RE DOIN' ASSHOLE!!"

The voice was very loud, very angry, and very female. How does that saying go? 'Hell hath no fury like a woman in wroth'?

Oh, yeah. This chick was the epitome of that statement. She was about 7 inches taller then me(I'm 5'3"), and she had blonde hair, blue eyes ringed with grey, and I couldn't see the rest of her face because both hands were clamped over her nose, presumably to stop the bleeding I'd started.

"OH MY GOD I'M SORRY!" I yelled, running over to see if she was all right. "You OK?"

"Yeah. It more took me by surprise then anything else. I'm Elizabeth, call me that and I die. I go by Spitfire. And you are...?"

"Name's Anthony. Call me that, and you will die. I usually go by Racetrack, since I love to gamble, ya know?"

"Fun stuff" she replied. "Where ya from?"

"NYC. Little Italy, to be precise. You?"

"Brooklyn. Born and raised. I meet all these phonies who moved there when they were 12, or somethin' stupid like that, not real New Yorkers." Then she started to sing that weird song from 42nd Street: "In the heart of Little Old New York, you'll find a thoroughfare! It's the part of Little Old New York, that runs into Times Square! A crazy quilt, that Wall Street Jack built! If you've got a little time to spare, I want to take you there! Come and meet, those dancing feet! On the avenue I'm taking you to!" Then she went into a rather bizarre little tap-dance, which mostly consisted of shuffle-step, shuffle-step.

_Oy vay._ Why me? WHY ME?!

"In case you've noticed, I can't dance, this is the extent of my tap-dancing knowledge" she said, noticing the amused look on my face. "So I do a LOT of shuffling." Then she looked at me. "Well? Are we just gonna stand here all day, or do you wanna get settled in and meet everyone? Come on!" And with that, she scooped up the bigger of my two suitcases, and headed through the giant oak front doors. "Welcome to Hell Academy!" she yelled over her shoulder. "You'll meet everyone later, but there's someone you don't wanna get excited (if ya know what I mean), be you gay, straight, bi, whatever. His name's Spot Conlon, and he does nothing to hide his sexuality at ALL, so just...watch out, 'K?"

"Um...OK" I replied, feeling slightly nervous. This can't be a good thing. "Why do you call it Hell Academy?"

"'Cause we're in Hell, Ohio, and...well, it's hell to be here, ya know? If you don't already, trust me. You will."

'Oh, joy. Oh, rapture' I thought sarcastically. Then she smiled at me.

"It takes a little getting used to, but once you do, you'll make friends like that!" She snapped her fingers. "Actually, the way it worked for me was I beat up the resident religious freak, Jack Kelly, and had him out cold for about three hours. After that..." She shrugged. "He kept his distance, preaching-wise, and I made a new friend."

"You beat up a religious nut?" I asked, laughing. "I thought God said..."

"Not to raise a hand against your brothers and sisters in Christ. God also said that pride and arrogance are sins, and to avoid them. So...we balanced each other out."

"Arrogance...?"

"When Jack kept preaching at me, he was using his faith as an excuse to lord over me, and make it look like he was better than I was. And that, according to God, is a sin."

"Oh."

"Yeppers. Well, this is the office" she said, stopping outside an all glass door, then knocking on it once. "Mr. Snyder, I've got the new student with me!" she yelled through the door.

"Send him in," came an ominous voice through the door. She nodded at me.

"Warden-I mean, _Principal_ Snyder will get you your schedule and rooming assignment, and-"All of a sudden, there was a loud BANG BANG BANG, followed by running footsteps and five or six angry voices yelling, "SPOT YOU ASSHOLE!"

"Ah, yes, Crazy Conlon, as they've nicknamed him, strikes again. I'd better go see what he's up to. Snyder will take care of ya, just don't whatever you do, insult any of the war mementos, however dinky, in his office. See you in the Rec Room. It's on the 3rd floor; we'll all be there. And don't worry, he just set off a couple of M-80's in the bathroom, nothing too terrible." And with those none-too-reassuring parting words, she took off sprinting down the hall.

I shook my head and walked into Snyder's office.

What the HELL had I gotten myself into? (Heh heh, pun intended.)

**END CHAPTER**

Author's Note: Ow. I hurt. Band camp started Monday, and I've got super bad sunburn, and we're doing a lot of arm movement, 'cause our show's West Side Story, so...yeah...it's hell. Anyways, sorry for all the Bible stuff in there, I had to set up Jack's character a little bit, ya know? So...anyways, I need some people to be students, only 7 or 8, I should think. But if I go over, I'll use ya at least once. First come, first serve. Here's what I need:

**Name and nickname, if ya have one:**

**History behind said nickname:**

**Appearance:**

**Personality:**

**Strengths:**

**Weaknesses:**

**Orientation:**

**Pairing preference (first come, first serve):**

**Any other misc. information you think is important:**

Hope you like this, I don't really, but hey, I never like what I write (The exception being One Of Those Days). That's 'cause I wrote it! Anyways, if any of y'all know a good way to make sunburn hurt less, PLEASE let me know, as I will be all ears. I love all y'all, please humor me on this one, please read and review, but no flames, _por favor._ Flames are like...finding out Mr. Nielsen is adding another song to our show, and we have to learn more flag work! TOODLES!


	2. Shut Up, Smartass

Greetings From HellCh.2

"And finally, if someone is able to scare the HELL out of you…shouldn't you be grateful?" Brad Stine

"326…326" I muttered as I walked down the hall. Lucky for me, there was no one with the last name 'Conlon' on my roommate slip. However, only three of the four spots were filled, so who knows?

I heard laughing, shouting, the crack of pop cans being opened, and rock music coming from a door about halfway down the hall.

"Oh, goody, here's my room" I said to myself half-sarcastically. "Six doors down from Party Central. Hoo-freakin'-rah."

I unlocked my door with the key Snyder had given me, dumped my stuff on one of the unclaimed beds, then headed down to the Wreck Room.

There were, I kid you not, about 25 people in the room, all of them shouting and laughing and eating and singing along with the radio. Someone noticed me and shut off the CD player, right in the middle of Jet's 'Cold Hard Bitch'.

"HEY!" said 10 surprised voices.

"Eh, shaddup!" said Liz, who'd also noticed me and was now standing up. "It's a frickin' CD, we always start it over."

Someone in the back started singing, "Cold hard bitch! Just a kiss on the lips-" until she shot them and death glare and said, "Shut up, Skitts." I turned to look at Skitts, wondering why they were glaring daggers at each other.

She cleared her throat and said, "Guys. GUYS! Igby, don't you hiss at me! We have a new face here in hell: His name is Anthony Higgins, but he's requested we call him Racetrack or Race, so we will, right?" There was no response. "RIGHT?!"

"Whatever" said a chick in a black hoodie with a red wife beater under it.

"Shut up, Smartass."

"What?! You said 'right' and I said 'whatever'! I was agreeing with you, for God's sake!"

"My bad. Sorry. Anyways, how 'bout everyone go around the room and introduce themselves, and say something interesting a bout themselves?"

"Ooh ooh ooh, can I start?!"

"Yes, Twitch, you may start" she said, hiding a smile.

"Well, my name's Jaime Greene, but people call me Twitch, 'cause I st-stutter occasionally, and I t-twitch when I'm nervous or scared. And, um…something interesting. Oh! I rigged up a system that lets us know when people who are not sympathetic to the Rebel Cause are approaching."

I just sort of stared.

"Twitch is a Star Wars fan, in case you couldn't tell" said Smartass.

"I never would've guessed" I muttered sarcastically.

"Hey! The witty sarcasm is MY job!" put in Smartass. "Hence the nickname. My real name is Vaughn Kensington, but I like my nickname better. And something interesting…hmmm…pretty much everything in my wardrobe is red or black!" she finished proudly.

"That's not interesting, Smartass" said a girl with spiky dirty blonde hair. "That's just sad."

She turned and flashed me a dazzling smile. "Hey, I'm Skylar Salvatore, a.k.a. Sunshine. Sunrise and sunset, I'm out there watching the sun. It was my grandpa's nickname for me."

"And she calls me weird" Smartass muttered.

"Oh, shaddup, the pair o' ya!" said a cheery voice. "Hey!" said a girl with hazel eyes, who reminded me forcibly of Chelsea from _That's So Raven_. I mean, you could feel the energy rolling off her in waves.

"I'm Isobel Brown, call me Izzy, and something interesting…lemme see…Bumlets is my boyfriend. Wave, _mi corazon_!"

Liz rolled her eyes as a Hispanic guy with thick black hair waved from where he was sitting in the back of the room.

"Hey, I'm Bumlets, don't ask how I got the nickname, not even I'm sure, and…um…I like cheese!"

I'm sure I had a blank look.

"Have you ever seen _Dave the Barbarian_? 'More cheese means bigger flaming loogies!'"

"Shut up, Bumlets" said a girl with green, cat-shaped eyes. They kinda reminded me of Avril Lavigne's. "You're not making any sense. As per usual." She smiled at me and handed me a Pepsi. "I'm Ekaterina Desana, but you'll forget that, everyone does. Just call me Kat."

"Can do. Thanks for the Pepsi" I said, cracking it open and raising it toward her, as if toasting her.

She laughed and called, "Hey, Two-Bits, come meet the new guy!"

Another girl, who had long dark red hair with black tips, came ambling over to where Kat was. She was wearing a T-shirt that said, "The voices in my head keep debating the lyrics to Hotel California". She noticed me reading the shirt and said, "Eagles fan."

"I see."

"I'm Adrienne Kyte, but everyone calls me Two-Bits, 'cause I never have more than a quarter on me at a time."

"Ah. I never would've guessed."

"You're doing it again! The sarcasm is MY job!" said Smartass loudly from the corner where she'd been making out with a guy with shaggy black hair. She looked over at me and smiled.

"This is my boyfriend, we call him Daft, 'cause…well, he's daft!" She laughed and threw an arm around his shoulder. "But he's a total sweetie."

Daft gave me a dopy grin. "Me real name's Grant, but, like Smartass said, I'm kinda loony, so…I get called Daft."

All of a sudden, I heard the low, steady beat of a bass drum, and everyone around me sighed and rolled their eyes.

"That's Dutchy" said a girl with black glasses, as if that explained everything. "Hey, I'm Fluxy. Nice to meetcha."

"Right back atcha. Why's he playing his drum, uh…?"

"Inside?" she supplied. "He's the leader of the drumline, so, practice always excites him. Every day, like clockwork, he starts playing 10 minutes before practice."

"Speaking of which" Liz said, standing up. "Practice starts in eight minutes, so we better haul ass to the band room. Race, you can come along and meet Denton, see if we've got a space for ya. You in?"

"Definitely. Can I meet everybody else later?" I asked.

"_Claro_. Of course! But now"- She spun around and pointed out the door. "¡_Vamos el cuarto de bando!_'" And she hopped out the door.

I think I'm gonna like it here.

A/N: I'm very sorry I didn't get everybody in, but I've got 15 OC's, and 10 newsies, and ay yi yi yi! It's too much for my tiny brain. I'm keeping a running list, so those who were left out this time will go in next time, cross my heart! Please review, I LIVE on reviews! (I swear they're addictive, LOL!) I'd do shoutouts, but I don't have enough energy to type 15 separate shoutouts, so I'll do one mass one:

**SHOUTOUT TO ALL WHO REVIEWED:**

**I love you all, you rock my socks, your OC's are AWESOME, they will all be used, I PROMISE! Latah, love ya, bye!**

**P.S.-Marching band rocks my socks!!!! **


	3. Hell's Own Marching Band

**A/N:** Guess who's updating?! ME, that's who! Also, I'm trying to work on Izzy's one-shot, so…we'll see which one gets up first! Read on for much randomness, lots of band nerd-ness, and…lots of nothing making sense! Enjoy!

"The hottest corners of hell are reserved for those who, in times of crisis, maintained their neutrality."-Dante's "Divine Comedy"

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to Erin Go Bragh, who brings out the band nerd in all of us. And because I can. Love you, Lyra!

GFH-Ch. 3

When we got down to the band room, I'll admit I was surprised. I had expected a bare room, with all the instruments locked up and out of sight. It was actually a big, bright, colorful room, inspirational posters all over the walls, and a room with three computers in it in the back. There were lockers everywhere, a row of tubas on the wall, and four basses leaning on a wooden stand against the wall. There was also a piano in front of a whiteboard with the message "Music is your own experiences, your own thoughts, your own wisdom.-Charlie Parker" written on it. Sheet music, drill charts, valve oil, broken reeds, and miscellaneous hats were everywhere. It was madness and mayhem everywhere.

And I loved it immediately.

Spitfire had run up to a short, stocky blonde girl and a tall, muscular girl with curly brown hair and wrapped them both in a massive hug. "Ella! Mandie! How was your summer?!"

They didn't answer, but I think it's because they couldn't breathe.

"Let us go and we'll tell you" Ella managed to squeak out.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Je-sus! How many times have I told you about the hugging thing?!"

Mandie was sort of off in her own little world, totally unaware Liz was being reamed out. So, what did Liz do?

She smacked her upside the head.

"Ouch! What the hell was that for?!"

"For cussing, as you put it 'In the holiness that is the band room'" she replied smoothly, then sashayed off.

"Ella-bella!" Liz called out from across the room. "Where the hell did you put my guard tape?! You had it last, I lent it to you…" Then she started swearing in Spanish.

"Hey! You can't say that!" Ella said, running across the room.

Mandie watched them argue, smiling and shaking her head. "Like elemental sodium and water" she said.

Seeing the puzzled look on my face, she explained. "When elemental sodium hits water, or anything its' reaction is extremely violent." She then held out a hand for me to shake.

"Hi. I'm Mandie. I play the trumpet. I'm a section leader. And those two insane idiots are my friends. And you are…?"

"Anthony Higgins. People call me Race. Ummm…I play the snare. Oh! And I opened a door into Liz's face."

She laughed out loud at that one. "That must've thrown her for a loop."

"Yeah."

"Outta my way!"

All of a sudden, a blonde guy with a bass drum on his back came barreling toward us. Smart us, we were standing near the door.

"Oh, crap!" Mandie said, pulling me out of the way. "If you don't get out of his way, he will run you over. He almost mowed over a little mellophone the other day, it wasn't pretty."

'_Oy vay_' I thought.

"Hey, Race?" came Liz's voice. "I found Denton, he wants to talk to you. He's in his office, we passed it on the way in-hurry!"

So I went back out into the hallway, and found the door labeled 'Music Office', with all the teacher's names on it. I knocked, and a cheery voice said, "Come in!"

I went inside, and there was a man in there, about 6 ft. tall, with brown hair, and eyes so brown they looked black. Kinda like Johnny Depp's, but that's not the point. He was talking to a short blonde girl who was holding a trumpet, a lyre that had music on it, a drill chart, and a water bottle. A Cavalier's visor was on her head, and sticking out the back was a sparkly blue pom-pom.

"Hey!" she said, catching sight of me. "I'm Katherine, I play trumpet, 'cause it's cooler than most instruments. Especially saxophones. They annoy me. Everyone calls me Blue, 'cause I'm usually wearing something blue, in my hair, a shirt, one time I even wore blue socks." Might I add, she said all this without seeming to pause for air.

"O…K" I said.

"Come on, Blue, out you go. I gotta talk to the new guy about finding him a spot, 'K?"

"'K" she said, twirling out the door. Yes, I said twirling.

"Hey there" he said, sticking out his hand and grabbing mine in a bone-crushing handshake. "I'm Brian Denton, and I'm the band director here at The George Washington Military Academy. I know the kids call it 'Hell Academy', and, subsequently, 'Hell's Own Marching Band', but, technically, we're not supposed to call it that. But we all do sometimes, and I find myself strangely deaf and dumb whenever school-bashing occurs.

So!" he said, clapping his hands and leaning back in his chair. "You play the snare, Anthony, am I correct?"

"Yeah, I do. I've played the drums since I was about 7."

"How old are you now?"

"16."

"Wow. 9 years. You know, we need a snare section leader. If you're any good…who knows?"

I brightened up a bit. I'd applied for section leader at my old school, and I'd always been turned down for some reason or other.

"But right now"-He stood up-"There's a few spare rigs in the drum room, you can go pick the one you want. Here's your drill charts, and some music. You're going to be Snare #1, so you can march the end-you'll learn the drill quicker. Any questions?" I shook my head. "OK, then. Let's go! I wanna get in a good two-hour practice today. _¡Vamos!_"

The rigs were there, just like he said, and after trying on two or three, I found one I liked and was fairly confident I could march easily with.

Then, I took a deep breath, walked over to the other side of the room, and pushed the door open.

The sun hit me like a slap in the face. It was earlier when my mom had dropped me off, and I guess I didn't notice it before. Most of the band was assembled on the field, with the exception of the color guard, and a few straggling saxophones. I ran (well, as fast as I could run with a rig on my chest) to find my spot, almost ran over Mandie, swerved to avoid her, and ran smack into Dutchy. The drumline leader.

Oh, freakin' joy.

"You jerk, watch where you're going!" he snapped.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I stammered, removing my rig, and bending over to pick up my drill charts that I'd dropped.

"Babe. BABE! Let it go" said Liz, coming up behind Dutchy. "Dutch, Denton's switching the drill, I'm sure. Race, what number are you?"

"Number one."

"See? Probably so he'll learn faster. Which reminds me"-She pulled one of my sticks out of my hand and gave four short taps. "Snares. SNARES! Thank you. Now, Denton switched your drill again-I know, it sucks-so you're gonna have to move around some. Again."

There was a lot of moaning and groaning, and plenty of swearing.

"Just _move_" said Dutchy, sounding very tired. "And Spot, don't you glare at me. It creeps me out."

_'Whoa, whoa, wait a second'_ I thought. _'Spot? As in the 'really flamboyantly gay' Spot? Oh, joy.'_

He turned and glared at me. "I was Snare #1, until youse showed up. Watch your ass, buddy-boi. Your extremely tight ass" he added, almost too quietly for me to hear. I immediately felt embarrassment, followed by paranoia.

He looked back over at me. "I'm Spot. Spot Conlon. Liz and I grew up about two blocks from each other, and Jack and Snitch and Skitts all lived within a six-block radius in Manhattan. So…it's like our own bizarre little NYC family. And, you, too-I hear youse're from Little Italy."

"Yeah" I said. "I am. Heart of the good food district, that's for sure. I lived in a really small apartment on Mulberry Street. Me, my mom and dad, my brother Mario, my sister Angelina, and my twin little sisters, Rosa and Bella. I love 'em (and miss 'em) like hell."

He gave me an extremely cocky half-smile. "Sounds like a nice family. It's just me and my lesbian older sister, Saraiah. My parents were so fed up living with her fiancée, and me bringing home my various boyfriends, that they kicked her out, and sent me here. And so…" He gestured vaguely around. "Here I am."

"_Nosotros aqui_" said a short guy, with floppy brown hair that was falling into his eyes. "Hey. I'm Danny Murphy, but my friends call me Snitch. Nice to meetcha, Race. Welcome to Hell. Snyder is Satan, and Vice-Principal Pulitzer is the co-Satan. Just warning you."

"SNITCH!" came a loud male voice from across the field. "Coming, _mon amie_!" he yelled back. "I swear he's like my mother…" he muttered, as he glide-stepped away.

"I bet he keeps time in his sleep."

"Kinda" Spot remarked. "His right foot taps, and the fingers of his left hand twitch. It's rather amusing, actually."

He laughed. He had a very nice laugh…Ew. Help me. Help me now. GOD, HELP ME NOW!

"So, _signore_" he said, placing heavy emphasis on the word. "You any good on your little drum there?"

I bristled. I've never liked drum jokes, they always feel like personal barbs. And this was my section mate?

_'It's gonna be a long season'_ I thought, as I peeled off my already sweat-soaked T-shirt.

Spot let out a wolf whistle. "Woo-hoo, sexy!" he hooted.

I chased him at least halfway downfield.

**END CHAPTER**

A/N: So…as we mourn the end of band, this chapter goes out to band nerds everywhere, who are as unhappy as I am that their beloved marching season is ending! -el sob- But, alas, I am powerless to change this fact, as I am only a lowly flaggott rookie. No shoutouts today, I'm uber-tired, I finished this at 1 a.m., and I went to bed with 'Maria' buzzing through my head. Yeah, so, everyone who reviewed :

**I LOVE ALL YOU GUYS, YOU ROCK MY SOCKS, THANKS FOR TAKING ANY SORT OF INTEREST AT ALL IN MY PATHETIC LITTLE STORY!!! XD XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO **

**THANK YOU**

And now, I take my leave of y'all, in my traditional flamboyant style:

::vanishes::

::cloud of black-and-silver glitter falls::


	4. TieDye and Sequins

**A/N**: ((clears throat)) Ahem! When we last left our heroes…

**EvilBlink!muse**: You know that sounds like a cheesy radio drama, right?

**Me**: Oh, shaddup, Blink! ((smacks him)) Anyways, Race had just arrived in hell, met the band nerd-y people, and had been scared by the flamboyantly gay Spot.

**FlamboyantSpot!muse**: ((cackles)) Watch out, _signore_! Heh heh heh…

**Me**: O…K. Anyways, on with the story! ((trombones try to blare, only they're so off-key that everyone dies. Just kidding!))

**Ch.**** 4-Greetings from Hell**

Ow. Muscles. Hurt. They don't call this place Hell Academy for nothing. I swear, we practiced for at least four hours, with only a few evenly spaced-out water breaks so we wouldn't pass out.

"Gah, that seemed too short" Mandie complained, as she bounded(yes, bounded) back into the building.

Freak. Nah, scratch that. SUPER freak.

It wasn't that the drill or music were all that complicated or anything, it was just so damn repetitive that we all got sick of it rather quickly. So I went in, put my rig away, and then wandered off in search of something to eat. I was pretty sure there were snacks in the Wreck Room, so I headed back up there.

When I got back up there, there were only a couple people in there, most of whom I didn't recognize.

"Toad…where's Toad?" Liz was asking, hopping around the room. (A/N: Sorry, bad pun…sorry, I won't do it again, lol!)

"Who the hell is Toad?" I asked, thoroughly confused."

"She's…oh, never mind, there she is. Toad! Toad!" she yelled, jazz-running across the room.

At that moment, two guys walked in, one blonde and pale, the other brunette and olive-skinned.

"Hey, Blink, look!" said the darker-skinned guy. "A male! We're saved!"

"Oh, thanks" said Bumlets sarcastically. They ignored him, and tackled me in a bear hug.

I'm going to leave here a wreck.

"I'm Dave, by the way" said the guy with the dark hair. "David Jacobs, and this is Blink Parker. We're in the band, too. We saw you this afternoon, but you got away before we could say anything."

"HEY!" yelled a new voice suddenly. I turned around, and saw a slim girl with blonde hair, an opal crest necklace, and vivid violet eyes.

"Is anybody going with us to Cleveland tonight?!" she yelled. "Oh, yeah, lookie, a new kid! I'm Ashley 'Tutti-Frutti' Myers, because my eyes change color, depending on what I'm wearing that day. So…who's going?"

"ME ME ME!" yelled about 20 voices.

"Stupid question, Ash" said Blue, who was guzzling water. "Everyone always goes."

"Eh, couldn't hurt ta ask" she said, shrugging. "You in, Race?" she asked.

"Hell yes! I need alcohol."

Fluxy smiled. "Well, then you're in luck. There are at least a dozen bars on one street, and there are about eight gay bars. Spot loves gay bars. He usually ends p getting kicked out of them." I laughed.

"What time is it?" asked Smartass.

Liz looked at her watch. "Ummm…about 5:00. When do we wanna leave?"

"I think…6:30" said Igby, which kinda of startled me, since I'd only heard her hiss, or snap in Japanese before. "We wanna eat, and then 'hit the clubs', right?" she said, sounding rather sarcastic on the last bit.

"Uh, yeah…good idea, Igby" said Smartass. "So we got an hour-and-a-half to get ready. Let's go!"

So we all headed off to our separate rooms.

**ONE HOUR LATER**

"DAVE LOOKS PRETTY! OH SO PRETTY! DAVE LOOKS PRETTY AND WITTY AND GAY!" I heard Liz singing, down the hallway, getting progressively louder. She must be dancing, or spinning, or hopping down the hallway.

"I DO NOT LOOK GAY!" Dave bellowed down the hallway.

"YEAH, EVERY STRAIGHT MAN WEARS TIGHT TIE-DYE AND SEQUINS!" she yelled back.

I heard stomping down the hall, and Dave was standing right in front of my open door.

I had to stifle a roar of laughter. He was, indeed, wearing a tight tie-dyed T-shirt, scattered with random sequins.

"Touché, Liz" I giggled, sticking my head out the door.

Dave glared at me. "What?!" I said, holding my hands up defensively.

"C'mere, Dave" said Liz, who was wielding a Q-tip. "And close your eyes."

Dave looked wary, but did as she asked. She ran the Q-tip over his eyelid, looked at it, and let out a wild bark of laughter.

"What? WHAT?!" we demanded in unison.

She was doubled up with laughter, but managed to straighten up, wipe her eyes, and whispered, "Eyeliner!"

Dave turned crimson, but I made a lunge for the Q-tip. Sure enough, there was dark stuff all over the tip of it. I was howling with laughter, clutching my sides, when Spot came up and asked, "What's so funny?"

And, I kid you not, he was wearing this shimmery stuff on his cheeks and collarbone, and I think he was wearing lip gloss.

_Oy vay._

"OK, we stop laughing at Dave…" Liz trailed off.

"And run away from Spot!" I finished.

She dashed off down the hall, laughing her head off, and I whirled around and tried to slam my door shut. But Spot was too quick for me.

"Not so fast, Higgins" he said, smirking. "You wouldn't lock out your own roomie, wouldja?"

"But…but, you're not…my…"

"Yeppers!" he said, smirking at me. "Got re-assigned this afternoon. You, me, Snitch, and Skittery. One big, happy, dysfunctional family."

Hoo-freakin'-rah.

"You'd better not try anything, Conlon."

"Who, me?"

**END CHAPTER**

Wow, this went on several different tangents. LOL! But, ya know, that's just me! But…anywayz…on to my shoutouts:

**SHOUTOUTS:** (Boo hoo, there's on three)

**Saturday:** Eh, Dalton invaded my mind during my review of your story. And you won't turn into Dakki-you'll be better than Dakki.

DAKKI: ((smacks me))

ME: WHAT'S WITH THE SMACKING?!

(dakki, by the way, I was just kidding)

Love ya, thanx for reviewing!

**Erin Go Bragh:** Yes, marching band DOESBest Thing In The World. Yes, you got the chapter dedicated to you, b/c yours are the longest reviews I get, and I LOVE that SOOO much. Love you SOO much, thanx for the review!

**TheAngryPrincess13: **I'm glad you liked this chappie. By the way, how'd you get your penname? Thanx for reviewing, love ya!!


	5. Dance Dance Revolution

A/N: Yeah, I realize it's been FOREVER since I updated this fic, but…y'all still love me, right? 'Course you do. ((nervous chuckle as !Muses advance)) I'm sorry I didn't update sooner! I still love you guys!

RandomSpecs!Muse: We know. We just felt like doing that.

ME: ((passes out))

AssholeRace!Muse: Read it and review, ya scabbas, or we'll soak ya!

Ch. 5-Greetings From Hell

I was actually surprised that the administration was letting us go an hour away from the school, but as Smartass said, "Where the hell else would we go? All our stuff is here. Besides, it's not so bad."

Eh.

So off we went to Cleveland. Now, there were about 30 of us, so we had to take a couple of the school's cars. Liz and Smartass were among the drivers.

Hoo boy.

Did I mention Liz has a lead foot on the accelerator? Yee-haw!

In her car were me, Dutchy (who was tapping out his own little rhythm 'till I screamed at him to stop), and (shudder) Spot. Who was actually behaving rather well, to be honest. I was kind of surprised. Not to mention a little suspicious.

The CD player was blasting out U2, right now it was, '(Pride) In The Name Of Love'. Good song. It was also good in _Moulin Rouge_. Yes, I've seen that movie. Don't look at me like that.

"In the name of love! What more in the name of love!" belted Dutchy, who was riding shotgun. "In the name of love! What more in the name of love!"

"Dutchy."

"Hmm?"

"You are not Bono. Please shut up. I mean, you've got a great voice, but…you are not Bono. Besides, you always sing along. One time won't kill ya. Please?"

Dutchy rolled his eyes but ceased singing. "Thanks babe."

Spot rolled his eyes.

"What was that for?" I whispered, nudging him.

He shook his head and put a finger to his lips. "Tell you later."

"When's later?"

"When we get there."

"Oh."

This turned out to be about 20 minutes later, with Liz driving the way that she did. Once we found everybody else, we, of course, had a fight over which bar to go to first. Spot, Blink, and Dave all wanted to go to a gay bar. The vast majority wanted to go to this place called 'Pixel Perfect', where you could get smashed while playing Dance Dance Revolution. The majority eventually won out, with the promise that we'd go to a gay bar in a little while.

Which, by the way, was what Dutchy, Liz, and I had started singing as we made our way up the street.

"IN A LITTLE WHILE! SURELY YOU'LL BE MINE! IN A LITTLE WHILE I'LL BE THERE!"

"SHUT UP!" yelled out 20 voices.

Yeesh. You'd think they didn't like U2, or sommat. When I voiced this to Smartass, she laughed.

"It's not that, Race" she said, throwing her arm around my shoulders as we wound our way up the avenue. "But Izzy owns, like, all their CD's, and plays them uber-loud all the time, AND she sings along. So…that's all."

"Oh."

"We're HERE!" yelled Izzy, running inside. "Dibs on Donkey Conga!"

"Oohoohooh, me too!" Spitfire yelled, close on her heels.

"I just want a drink!" I shouted.

"Me too!" chorused others behind me. So we gravitated toward the bar, flashed our (very fake) ID's, and ordered drinks.

"Hits the spot" I said, knocking back a shot of Jack Daniels. This loosened me up a bit, and I started chatting with Igby, whom everyone seemed to be ignoring.

"So…Igby…what's up?"

She looked at me like I was crazy. "Uhm…not much. How 'bout you?"

"Nothing, really. School's OK. Band's cool. Snyder's an asshole."

She gave me a small smile. "D'you know, he once called me a Japanese freak to my face?"

"Really?"

"You have no idea."

"Guess not. You like sushi?"

"Eh. It's OK. Kinda wriggly, almost too fresh for me." Then she laughed. "Is your mom one of those stereotypical Italian moms with long hair, cooks a lot, and sings opera around the house?"

"All that, and she's properly superstitious, and a good Catholic."

Her heavily lined eyes widened. "Wow. And I was just kidding. Seriously?"

"Seriously."

Suddenly, we heard shouts, laughter, and the sound of a smack upside the head. Izzy and Liz had been playing Donky Konga, and they couldn't agree who won.

"Izzy cheated!" Liz yelled.

"I did NOT!" Izzy retorted. "You grabbed my hand in the middle of a combo! You're the cheater!"  
Then they began smacking each other upside the head. Again.

"Will you two quit it!" Jack said, coming up behind them. "God doesn't like it when you fight. He cries when His children fight."

"Shut up, Jackie-boi" we said in unison.

"Is he on his soapbox again?" drawled a new girl, coming up to us. "Paige Hamilton, call me Lucky", she said, shaking my hand. There was a tattoo of four aces from each suit on her left shoulder.

"A CARD PLAYER!" I yelled, tackling her into a massive hug. "THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK"-

"Oh, shut up" she said, laughing and peeling me off of her. "You any good?" she asked.

"Undefeated champion of The Unofficial Little Italy Poker Tournament five years running" I said proudly. "Beat out the Don one year, but then he quit coming."

"What…the Don, like…the head of…The Mob?"

"Well…yeah" I finished quietly, fidgeting a little bit. "But don't tell anyone."

She looked impressed. "Little Italy's famous for its poker tourneys. I watched one on Bravo once. I'm holding one next weekend. You in?"

"Absolutely! By the way, all y'all are going down."

"In your dreams!"

"The Poker King, The Poker King, oh yes, I am The Poker King!" I sang.

She smacked me and started to laugh. "Shut up, dork!" she said, laughing at my half-drunk antics.

"I'm not a dork. YOU are" I replied, breaking into a half-jig, half-waltz.

"I don't even wanna know" said Two-Bits, coming up behind me and ordering a shot of tequila. She knocked it back without batting an eyelash, and I must say, I was duly impressed.

"I'm not exactly a ladylike drinker" she said, noticing my expression.

"I never would've guessed" I said dryly, taking another swallow of beer.

"Ya know, you're gonna take over Smartass's job if you're not careful" said Lucky, raising her eyebrows at me.

"And I care…why?" I said, winking at her. She just laughed and ordered another Black Russian.

"Let's go watch the DDR machines, shall we?" I said, jokingly offering her my arm. She laughed but played along, slipping her hand around my elbow, and we meandered over to the DDR machines.

Spot and Blink were engaging in a strip-DDR contest, and, as Blink apparently sucks at DDR, he was wearing nothing more than a pair of SpongeBob boxers and a Nebraska Huskers hat.

I let out a wolf whistle. "Woo-hoo, sex-ay!" called Lucky, throwing a quarter at him. It hit him in the head, and when the song had finished, he looked down.

"A quarter? That's all I'm worth! A lousy QUARTER!"

"Apparently" said Izzy, laughing. The next song was starting, so Blink didn't have time to respond. So he settled for sticking his tongue out at her instead. Spot won (Quelle surprise!), and Blink threw his hat on top of a pile of his pants, shirt, and shoes.

"You know" said Spitfire, in between laughing fits, "Blink's never gonna live this down. He's drunk as hell, thankfully, he'll never remember."

"How much have you had to drink, anyway, Race?" Lucky asked, peering at me.

I shook my glass at her. "'S my third."

"It's capped" she said, pulling it away from me.

"Fuck off" I said, slurring the second word.

Then I passed out.

**END CHAPTER**

A/N: All my chapters where the Newsies go out drinking seem to end with at LEAST one person drinking too much and passing out. Hmm…another recurring theme, perhaps? XD


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